


k'war'ma'khon

by lodessa



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Georgiou Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: An Alternate Universe in which Philippa Georgiou survives to become the captain of the Discovery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written because if you want something done right apparently you have to do it yourself. (AKA: I'm really upset about the lost potential of Captain Philippa Georgiou!) 
> 
> **Title Explanation** : k'war'ma'khon (according to the internet) means family (in the more figurative sense as opposed to simply genetic) in Vulcan.

“Ambassador...” she pauses, knowing it is useless attempting to read Sarek’s face to ascertain the tenor of his intent but trying anyway, “I am sorry for the delay, this new ship is taking some getting used to. “

“Is the Discovery not to your liking, Philippa?” he asks and if he was not Vulcan she suspects that there would have been something approaching amusement in his tone.

Philippa rather than Captain Georgiou. This is to be a personal conversation then.

“You know very well she’s a beautiful ship,” she concedes, knowing the ache she has for the Shenzhou is sentiment and not logic, “But I suspect that you didn’t call me to discuss such things.”

“No,” his eyes pierce through the mask of calm she’s pulled around herself, “I reached out to you as a father, not for any of our various professional ties.”

“I’m so sorry, Sarek,” the words stick in her throat, swelling with the memory of Michael’s scream as she reached out to her, their hands too far to touch as the Klingon ship faded into the blur of transport dematerialization, “I failed her.”

“On the contrary,” he replies, and from someone else it might seem like empty platitude but she knows Sarek and he has no time for such things, “I asked you to teach Michael to regain her humanity once more and what happened at the binary stars suggests that if anything you were overly thorough.”

Why did Michael do as she had? That question continues to plague her. Was it emotion? Was it a sense of superiority? Fear? Distrust? 

It doesn’t matter. Sarek is up to something. He wouldn’t have contacted her just to try and make her feel better.

“That’s quite the generous interpretation. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were buttering me up.”

“It is simply logic.”

“You and I both know that **you** are capable of twisting and turning logic into whatever direction and shape you so choose.”

On another day he might have countered that claim, but today he didn’t. Another sign that he had some very specific objective for this conversation.

“There is something I want from you, a personal request.”

“Something Starfleet doesn’t want to do?” she hazards, knowing Sarek is capable of exploiting their history and her guilt if he has deemed it necessary.

“Starfleet will not object,” he counters coolly, “As I said, it is a personal matter.”

“Well then, you had better tell me what this personal matter is.”

“I want you to take Spock on board the Discovery.”

That. That she did not expect.

“Your son? Isn’t he assigned to the Enterprise? Why would you-” 

_Why would you trust me with your son after I failed your daughter?_

“The Enterprise may be Starfleet's flagship but the Discovery is a science vessel. My son is a scientist after all.”

“I find it difficult to believe you would go to all this trouble simply so that he might have a better laboratory.”

Nothing was that simple with Sarek. It was something intriguing about him but also frustrating. Besides, if Spock had wanted to have the most advanced opportunities for scientific inquiry he would have stayed on Vulcan.

“It is more than that. With the Enterprise grounded for a major retrofit, logic would dictate that he focus on research rather than exploration for a time. However, after what happened with Michael I believe that he will experience certain difficulties.”

So Sarek figures that she will be the only Starfleet commanding officer who won’t hold Michael’s mistakes against his son. He might be right, but does that really make her qualified to help Spock when she failed Michael so completely?

“That is not, however, my primary objective in requesting Spock be placed on your ship.”

“Why then? It is not logical to repeat a choice which failed so spectacularly.”

_You saved my life and I lost hers._

“You understand the risks. No one else understands what is at stake, now more than ever.”

She did. Over the years she had encountered many other members of Starfleet (let alone the Federation as a whole) who thought the Vulcans were needlessly rigid just out of pure ego. She knew better. 

Those months in Romulan custody, the interrogations, the mind games, the relentless drive that could never be satiated. She remembers the sound of her mother’s screams. She knows what the Vulcans fear, why they grip so tightly to their meditation and their logic. 

And yet… she told herself that Michael wasn’t a Vulcan, that she didn’t need those same strictures. Maybe neither of them wanted to see what Sarek had known from the start.

It wasn’t just nature versus nurture. Some experiences could change you forever. She and Sarek had wanted to believe in the power of healing, but that gaping wound had been waiting beneath the surface of Vulcan binding all this time, growing deeper and more infected with time.

“Spock has been and will be an outsider his whole life. You understand how dangerous that can be. You know what could become should any of us forsake our ways and yet you have never recoiled in fear or disdain.”

His words draw her out of her moment of realization. Sarek is withholding something from her, something crucial. He’s done it enough times for her to recognize the signs. She probably would have identified it earlier if she hadn’t been too busy feeling guilty.

“Whatever I may understand, Sarek, I still failed Michael. Why should you want me to mentor your son when, despite my understanding, my guidance led to your daughter’s disgrace and death? Unless, there is something you aren’t telling me.”

It is Sarek’s turn to pause and then he raises that signature eyebrow in that way which Michael had inherited from him and leans ever so slightly closer to the screen.

“It is probable that we both failed Michael, but she is alive, Philippa.”

“Impossible.”

How could Sarek succumb to such a delusion? And if he really believes it why was she only hearing about it now, six months later?

“When have you known me to me inaccurate?” he contests.

“The Klingons don’t take prisoners, Sarek. Not as a matter of course.”

Surely he will see reason. If not, is he going mad? How has she not seen it?

“And yet they have,” he insists , “Do you remember, how I once reached out to you?”

None of his later answers had truly explained it, the mind meld that wasn’t, how he’d touched her mind from so far away. Like a true Vulcan he hasn’t lied but he’d evaded and distracted and she’d been sentimental enough to let him.

“Are you saying you’ve spoken to her?”

Could it be? Or is grief making fools of them both.

“Spoken to her, seen her. Michael is alive. The Klingons have her and they have her building something, **Phillipa**.”

That last word comes not through the screen but into her mind, reverberating through her. It has been so many years, and yet there are some things you never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter 1 has been minorly altered to match canon according to Memory Alpha** : In the original draft it stated that Spock was still a cadet. However, per Memory Alpha, Spock joined Starfleet in 2250 and had already been on the Enterprise for two years in 2256 when Discovery begins. Sarek and Georgiou's conversation about him joining Discovery has been adjusted to match that timeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock arrives to join the crew of the Discovery.

Spock is uncertain of what he should expect as his shuttle docks and he emerges onboard the USS Discovery. The ship is brand new, very advanced, and her captain is perhaps the most decorated still active captain in the history of Starfleet. It would have been illogical of him to reject the invitation to join Discovery’s crew.

Still, he is unsure as to why he has been so specifically invited. It is not unreasonable to surmise it has something to do with Michael, somehow things have always tended to in his experience, and engaging more directly with the subject of her is something he has been attempting to minimize these last months.

He sees that Commander Saru has arrived to receive him in person and Spock wonders whether this level of attention is given to all incoming Ensigns on Discovery or he was right to suspect that there was more than the typical reassignment going on here.

He has read the crew’s dossiers and is aware that the ship’s first officer is Kelpien, a rarity to be sure. Few non-humans make it to that level of command and the Kelpien race is not known for the bravery or decisiveness. 

Does Captain Georgiou perhaps collect oddities? Is he simply the latest in her collection? 

“Ensign,” Saru addressed him, “Welcome aboard Discovery. The captain sends her apologies that she could not be here to meet you.”

“I am certain the she has more important concerns than such pleasantries,” he replied.

“Doubtless. Still Captain Georgiou likes to greet all new officers upon arrival. She feels it is critical that she knows all of us and no one feels invisible.”

“A noble goal,” he accepted, wondering in spite of himself what Michael had thought of the philosophy.

“The captain has invited you to dine with her this evening. In the meantime I am to show you to your quarters and your work area. If you will follow this way.”

Saru worked closely with Michael for years. Spock knows this, from the dossier but also from her personal communications to him, her constant complaints about Saru’s timidness or his attempts to undermine her. She respected him, for all of their conflicts. Spock knows this. He is uncertain whether to be relieved or discomfited by Saru’s restraint in not mentioning the connection.

Captain Georgiou has no such restraint.

“Ensign Spock. Come in,” she smiles, strong and gentle and gracious as his mother, “It is good to finally meet you after all these years.”

“Captain,” he inclines his head just slightly, trying to indicate respect while getting his bearings, “The honor is mine.”

“I’m glad you decided to join us, Spock,” she tells him, indicating for him to take a seat as she crosses the room.

“It is an excellent opportunity,” he replies, “Though I admit I was surprised to be offered it.”

“And why is that? Your records are exemplary.”

“I would have thought, given the actions of-” he stops mid sentence as movement catches his attention, a small feline with the distinctive wide ears and tawny rosette markings of a Vulcan sand cat rounding the table to peer up at him with impossibly rare gold flecked eyes.

“It would hardly be logical to hold the actions of your adoptive sister against you, if that is what you are implying?” Georgiou says with a more pleasant countenance than he might have expected given what Michael had done.

Still he’s staring at the creature who has now moved to stand beside her, the perfect image of the one who graces his family home.

“Did she gift you with this specimen?” he asks, surprised to see anyone outside of Vulcan with one of their sand cats, let alone one who so closely resembles his father’s.

“Hardly,” she seems to laugh at the notion, “She’s older than either of you.”

“You know my father,” he concludes, “Well enough for him to have trusted you with this feline… and his ward.”

It is a puzzling realization, one that makes altogether too much sense as he considers it in earnest. Sarek had taken Michael directly to Georgiou rather than Starfleet as a whole. He had not chosen her at random, nor had it been merely based on some impersonal file. Sand cats were precious, slow to mature and even more reticent to reproduce. Such a gift was more than diplomatic.

“Indeed,” she confirms, “I don’t suppose Sarek ever mentioned it to you, but there was a time when your father and I were… close.”

“There are many things my father has never seen fit to mention,” he evades, attention divided between the beast and the woman.

“Now that,” she shook her head slightly, “Sounds just like him. I don’t suppose he told you he suggested this transfer either.”

“He did not.”

Yet another piece of the puzzle clicks into place. It is in his father’s character to interfere, though why he wants his son on Discovery suddenly remains a mystery for the moment.

“Would you have come if he had?” she asks with what seems to be genuine interest.

“I do not know. My father and I do not always see eye to eye on what is best for my future.”

Michael would argue that he was understating the situation, if she were here. He cannot accept what she did before her death, but Spock still reflexively makes a mental note of what her thoughts and reactions would be, just as he had when he believed she had abandoned him, leaving Vulcan to join Starfleet.

“Well then,” Georgiou grins conspiratorially at him, “It appears we already have something in common, Mr. Spock.”

“If you say so, Captain. I do not suppose my father revealed to you the reasoning behind his request.”

“I doubt Sarek has ever fully explained his reasons to anyone,” she hesitates, “He claimed that it was a good career move for you and that he thought you could benefit from my mentorship in this time of high tension and scrutiny, despite how things ended with Michael.”

“But you suspect another motive,” he hazards.

“I do,” she confirms, reaching down to stroke the fur of the cat still standing at attention, “Has he discussed Michael’s fate with you?”

There is something about her tone, when she says the word fate. She could have said death, demise, or even end. Captain Philippa Georgiou does not strike Spock as a woman to mince words. Nor does she seem one to keep secrets for their own sake.

“My father and I do not speak often, no.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but is cut off by the all too familiar blare of the red alert siren. The cat flattens its ear back in displeasure, a sentiment that Spock can understand.

“Bridge, report.” She does not hesitate as she strides over to the communication panel just before the lights go out.

“There’s been an accident in lab 26B, captain,” Saru’s voice fills the darkness after a very brief pause, “We’ve lost power to three decks temporarily, including Engineering, but the damage seems contained.”

“How long until things are up and running again, Mr. Saru?”

She doesn’t sound panicked or angry, perhaps a little tired but that is to be expected. 

“Power should be restored within three quarters of an hour. Engines may take a bit longer. I directed Lieutenant Stamets to work on the problem, but he seems to have run off to the accident site instead.”

“Understood,” Captain Georgiou says as emergency lighting comes online, outlining her silhouette and casting a large shadow behind her, “You coordinate repairs to our systems. I’ll go find Stamets.”

Spock realizes he is just sitting there and moves to stand just in time.

“Ensign, with me,” Georgiou instructs before striding towards the door to the corridor.

He follows her, matching her efficient but not unnecessary pace.

“I would apologize for the interruption, but it is simply a reality of a vessel of this nature. With over two hundred separate scientific projects in progress on board, one of them is constantly causing a crisis.”

“So many?” He had not realized the diversity of the research on board, “Would it not be more logical to focus on a smaller number of key projects?”

“Starfleet believes any one of these lines of inquiry may be vital to the war effort. Besides, how many researchers at the top of their game do you know who are willing to set aside their own focus aside to assist one another?”

As if her remarks were timed for emphasis, they immediately round a corner to find two officers in the midst of a heated argument.

“Do you have any idea what this could do to my mushrooms? How delicate they are?” The lieutenant's face appears vibrantly red due to in part the lighting and in comparison to his almost translucent hair and eyebrows.

“As if you haven’t interrupted my tests with your own three times in the last week. You do know your project isn’t the only one that matters, Paul.”

“Lieutenants,” Neither of them has noticed the captain’s approach in the middle of their debate and they both jump at the sound of her voice, “I believe there are better uses for both of your time than bickering like a pair of schoolchildren.”

“Captain.” They both look visibly embarrassed. The both eye Spock suspiciously, eyeing his eyebrows visibly.

“Stamets, go check on your spores instead of yelling about them. Unless, of course, you require a sedative from Dr. Culber.”

“Right away, captain,” Stamets turns and head back the way they came from, clearly not waiting for her to make that offer an order.

“Now,” she turns to the other lieutenant, an Andorian, “What happened here?”

“The refraction vectors are more complicated than we’d hoped,” she replies, regretful but not fearful, “I’m afraid we overloaded the circuits trying to run them for an object bigger than my fist.”

“We knew it would be difficult,” Captain Georgiou reassures the woman, and Spock notices the way her antennae shift in relief. The crew do not want to disappoint the captain, though she seems most mild and understanding with them in response, “Remember, when we started the size limit was something like a grape.”

“The good news is that most of the equipment appears to be intact. Other than some blown transformers, we could be able to resume work very soon.”

“Good,” the captain smiles, placing her hand on the Andorian’s shoulder, “Cloaking technology will undoubtedly be a major factor in the conflicts of the upcoming era. Every shred of progress we make brings us closer to evening the scales with the Klingons.”

“If you don’t mind, captain. I’d like to see what I can do about starting repairs.”

“Not at all,” she grins more broadly, “Carry on.”

“Walk with me, Spock.”

This time they head towards the bridge rather than her dining room.

“Now where were we.”

“My father’s possible motivation for putting me on this ship. You seemed to think it might have something to do with Michael’s death.”

“Right,” she pauses to let a pair of crewmembers pass them by, “Sarek must have wanted me to be the one to tell you rather than doing it himself.”

“Tell me what, captain?” 

What could Sarek possibly have shared with Georgiou about MIchael’s death that could motivate him to go to all this trouble.

“He doesn’t believe she’s dead, Spock. Sarek recently shared with me his conviction that Michael is alive in the hands of the Klingons.”

This declaration causes the threat of emotion to rise within him, but he pushes it down with only passing attention. Surely she cannot be serious.

“It would be unprecedented for a human to last this long in Klingon custody,” he argues, ignoring the treacherous thoughts that rise to the forefront of his mind, “Furthermore, if they had such a high profile prisoner they would want to create some sort of spectacle regarding her.”

How could his father hold such an irrational belief? Why hadn’t his mother written to him about it if his father was losing his wits?

“That’s what I told him, but your father insisted that they have her building something, that he’s touched her mind.”

Why tell this woman and not his own son? Why, unless he had some ulterior motivation? If Spock were to believe what she is saying his father believes, what would Sarek hope to accomplish by telling Georgiou and by asking her to bring Spock to the Discovery.

“You think he wants us to rescue her?” he surmises, “Why Discovery? She’s a science vessel not a warship.”

“You have not,” she replies, “been briefed on our new engine prototype. When it is fully functional, we will be able to travel almost anywhere instantaneously, warp into Klingon space without warning and then vanish in the blink of an eye.”

“And my father knows this?”

“He hasn’t told me as much but he usually does know these things. As to why he wanted you here, only you can tell me that.”

“ It is possible he thought I could fix whatever is keeping this new drive from operating.”

His father is not so sentimental as to imagine that his son should be the one to go after his lost daughter. No, if Sarek wanted Spock on Discovery there was some sort of logic to it.

“If he is correct, Lieutenant Samets, as well as the whole war effort, will be in your debt.”

“I merely stated that Ambassador Sarek might believe it,” he qualified, not wanting to build up irrational expectations, “With no real understanding of how such a drive is meant to operate, I cannot be certain I can be of any assistance whatsoever.

“Sarek doesn’t needlessly boast,” she replies, “If he thought you were needed here I am sure he had a good reason.”

He understands, somehow, why Michael stayed on the Shenzhou when she could have transferred to a newer ship. Captain Georgiou inspires something in the people serving under her. He just saw just now it in those two officers who set aside their bickering. Clearly, it extended in some way even to his own father.

“Let us hope, for everyone’s sake, he was not mistaken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially a real fic now. Thank you to everyone who left me encouraging comments. Please let me know what you think as it develops.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael wrestles with the pressure Kol is putting on her to give him the results he wants.

“Or maybe,” the vice like grip of the Klingon closes around her throat, “you are just not trying.”

“I am a xenoanthropologist,” she more or less manages, though her accent is is underdeveloped, the lack of air making it worse, and there isn’t an actual word for xenoanthropology in Klingon so she’s approximating with three not quite accurate ones, “Not engineer.”

The task of breathing and of trying to grasp for the alien words and grammar is making her light headed and heavy in the chest.

“I was told you Vulcans were supposed to be smart. Prove it.”

The other hand comes down across her face, the metal of the gauntlet sending splitting pain she is relatively certain is a result of fractures in her cheekbone.

“Intelligence is not worthiness.” (It’s the closest Klingon word to qualified.) “And I’m human,” she chokes through gritted teeth.

The comment gives her an idea, though, probably a stupid one but an idea nonetheless.

As Kol reverses direction with his arm to bring his hand back across the other side of her face, Michael shifts her weight, causing him to miss and tumble forward, grip loosening on her throat as he seeks unsuccessfully to regain his balance.

A coordinated jab of both her elbow and knee at the correct angle and she is fee of him as he winces in pain. (Her Suus Manha instructor probably would have had some “constructive” corrective comments but she’s not here.) 

She’s out the door before he has a chance to recover.

The element of surprise aids her in taking down the two guards by the door and the one at the first junction of corridors. 

Logically, she knows that there’s no way she’s getting off this ship alive, but the Klingons are thus far showing uncharacteristic restraint in not killing her. Maybe she will get lucky. Or maybe she is intentionally trying her luck, longing for an end to it all.

A point against that last theory: she doesn’t run straight for the shuttle bay.

They’ll be after her any moment and they will expect her to try to escape that way. She needs to trick them, the element of surprise is the most effective weapon she has available.

She turns the other way and starts looking for access panels.  
These access tunnels aren’t as clean or sleek as the jeffries tubes of a federation starship (of the Shenzhou) but they are a bit wider, which she appreciates as she stops to try and catch her breath and sort out some sort of plan. 

Her face throbs. Her ears ring. Her throat aches. 

She closes her eyes. She inhales slowly, just as she was taught so many years ago by Sarek. She pushes the pain and tension away, starting with her head and then down out across her shoulders. By the time she reaches her feet her heart has stopped pounding.

They’ll find her eventually. She knows that. However by then Kol’s rage will have cooled and deepened, and he won’t kill her like he might have in his initial pursuit. He will make her pay, make her suffer, but he’ll have calmed enough to remember he has a use for her.

Is that really a good thing?

What is her plan here? Surely her life isn’t worth enabling the Klingons to field a whole armada of ships with that stealth technology. If she figures or how to replicate it and gives that information to Kol… well that would be a far greater treason than what she already is paying for.

She thinks about her hurt in Captain Georgiou’s eyes, the disappointment. What would she do if she were here? Escape? Try to steal the technology for their side? Sacrifice herself to the greater good?

If Michael refuses to help, if she gives up her life, Kol will find someone else to get the technology working. (He will either way, but the longer she is working on it the longer it will be until that happens.)

What if she does figure it out, though? What if she was able to communicate that to the federation, either by escaping or sending a message? Surely that would be worth the risk.

_That’s your ego talking._ Sarek criticizes, or rather the idea of him she carries around in her head does. She’s tried a couple times to reach out to him as he did her, but she can’t figure out how he did it. Once, she thought she was close, but then the guard slammed open the door to her cell and broke her concentration.

Maybe it is a pipe dream, but it’s something to hold onto. Michael sets the intention to figure out and steal the technology and feels more herself than she has since that first moment of panic when she saw the Klingon insignia on the ship.

_So let’s say you do figure the secrets of this stealth device out?_ she asks herself, _What then? How are you going to get it to the federation?_ Escape is one idea, but it is high risk and has a low chance of success. The long distance form of telepathy Sarek had shown her would be the cleanest, least likely to be detected, but she isn’t sure she is capable of initiating that link. That leaves hijacking the Klingon communication system to send a message directly to Starfleet. Likely to be detected, but as long as she gets the message out, her life won’t end in vain.

Of course, that still requires her to actually figure out how it works.

Which means getting out of this “escape attempt” in one piece. 

Despite her breathing exercises and increased mental clarity, she feels overwhelmed and drained. She falls asleep, exhausted from the adrenaline and the exertion and just how many weeks it's been since she got more than a few hours uninterrupted sleep.

Michael dreams of books, of their worn spines and uneven edges. Growing up on Vulcan, more than once the hardbound tomes her foster mother left lying around (much to Sarek’s annoyance) had seemed a symbol for humanity: fragile but rough, full of mysteries of uncertain value.

“Borrow one, if you like,” Philippa had smiled, catching her staring at the ones stored in her office.

Now she dreams and in her dream she goes to the shelf to find a favorite volume of her captain’s.

> _It’s the Ekumen’s custom, and there are reasons for it. Though in fact I began to wonder if I’ve ever understood the reasons. I thought it was for your sake that I came alone, so obviously alone, so vulnerable, that I could in myself post no threat, change no balance: not an invasion, but a mere messenger-boy. But there’s more to it than that. Alone, I cannot change your world. But I can be changed by it. Alone, I must listen, as well as speak. Alone the relationship I finally make, if I make one, is not impersonal and not only political: it is individual, it is personal, it is both more and less than political. Not We and They; not I and It; but I and Thou. Not political, not pragmatic, but mystical. In a certain sense the Ekumen is not a body politic, but a body mystic. It consider beginnings to be extremely important. Beginnings and means. Its doctrine is just the reverse that the end justifies the means. It proceeds, therefore, by subtle ways, and slow ones, and queer, risky ones; rather as evolution does, with is in certain sense its model… So I was sent alone, for your sake? Or for my own? I don’t know. Yes, it has made things difficult._

She goes to turn the page and her hands are smaller, not yet fully formed, looking away from the book’s pages she finds herself in Sarek’s study, all disproportionate limbs in the middle of the growth spurt.

“There you are,” Amanda smiles down at her from the doorway, “Make sure you put that book back when you are done with it. You know how your father gets about his things.”

“He’s not-”

Michael jolts awake suddenly, disoriented and uneasy.

_I am a xenoanthropologist._ Her own words to Kol echo in her mind.

There is more to be learned here than the workings of some alien technology. Neither the Vulcans nor the Federation at large understand the Klingons, not really. Sarek’s advice was based more on trial and error than true insight.

_I have had an unprecedented opportunity,_ Sarek told her once when she asked an impertinent question, _to gain a deeper understanding of humans than my peers. True understanding is the basis of all effective diplomacy._

_But you aren’t even the Ambassador to Earth anymore!_ she’d replied snottily.

_It is the nature of all living things to fear what we do not understand,_ Captain Georgiou reminded her after a particularly rough first contact, _but that does not mean we cannot move past that fear through better acquaintance._

Understand the Klingons? A small petty part of her insisted that she already understood more than she wanted to about them.

_Harmony between species isn’t just about seeing past our differences, Michael,_ her foster mother insisted, _It’s about understanding them and incorporating that into the way we engage with one another._

She has been going out of her way not to give Kol any satisfaction she can possibly withhold. It is not helping matters. It won’t help her survive. It won’t help her figure out anything useful for Starfleet. It won’t help her escape or get a message out.

When she sees Kol next she will tell him she was just scared and panicked. He will like to have her tell him how intimidating he is.

It’s a bit of a crawl back to her cell, and a bit of a fall down from the ceiling, but she makes it. 

It is the safest place for them to find her, an admission of defeat. 

Besides, she thinks as she collapses, drained and aching, it’s the last place they will think to look so maybe she can get a little bit of a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotation ( and book on both Georgiou and Sarek's shelves) in Michael's dream is from Ursula Le Guin's _The Left Hand of Darkness_ , a book worthy of remaining a classic in the 23rd century and also which I feel has resonance with the Federation, Gerogiou's first contact duties, Sarek's work as an ambassador and diplomat (and his human kink), and Star Trek as a whole. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite the temporary move away from Georgiou (a necessary evil for the plot). I'd love to hear what you think about my first attempt at writing Michael here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgiou finds herself repeatedly interrupted.

The tickle of sweat trickling down her skin threatens to shatter her already shaky concentration, but Philippa takes a slow deep breath and pushes further into the stretch anyway.    
  
She’s supposed to be clearing her mind with active meditation, but instead she’s thinking about everything from conflicts between her officers to how much more pleased Starfleet is with the Glenn’s progress on the spore drive than Discovery’s.   She’s sure the kind of results they are getting can’t be coming from any sort of responsible methodology and testing.  Or is she being overly cautious?  Every time Stamets starts talking about the possibilities of the project, his intense focus reminds her of Michael, and that could very well be clouding her judgement.  She has to face the possibility.  
  
Of course, maybe she’s just letting Lorca get under her skin with his smug self satisfied little barbs.   He acts like he’s being modest, but she knows what he’s really up to with all those little ‘friendly’ check ins.  
  
No.  She will not compromise her principles, not because of him and not for a veritable army of admirals thirsty for a quick fix.  
  
Philippa shifts into a different pose, wiping the sweat from above her lip with the back of her hand in the middle of the movement.   She will not be beat by this.  She will not let war change her.  
  
One deep breath in.  A slow exhale.   Her muscles burn as she pushes her flexibility and balance to the limit.  
  
“Bridge to Captain Georgiou.  We’ve just received a transmission I believe you are going to want to see.”  
  
So much for meditation.  She sighs and twists out of the pose, placing both feet carefully on the ground before standing.  
  
“Georgiou speaking.  Who is it from?”  
  
“That’s the thing, Captain.  The message appears to have originated from… a Klingon vessel.”  
  
“Klingon.”  That is unexpected.  “I’ll be right there, Commander.  Be prepared to brief me in my ready room in ten minutes.”  
  
No time to freshen up.  Philippa wipes the excess perspiration off with a towel and then hurriedly pulls on her duty uniform.  
  
What could the Klingons possibly want?  Why seek her out specifically, or at least the ship?  Unless… her stomach twists as the thought occurs to her: this could be about Michael.  
  
She hasn’t told command about Sarek’s conviction regarding his ward’s survival.  They were unlikely to believe such an unlikely story based on hearsay of an alien, somewhat mystical, connection. Besides, it would have felt like a betrayal of his trust, despite the fact that she was pretty sure he was exploiting that sentiment quite intentionally.  
  
If this transmission provides hard evidence, all that will have to change.  
  
She still won’t mention her conversation with Sarek on the topic, she thinks, or what prompted her to request Spock.   Really, neither would provide anything advantageous to command or the war effort.   It isn’t a lie, it’s just streamlining.  She should give Sarek a heads up though.  
  
All these years later, and she still finds herself falling back into old patterns at times like these.  
  
_You’d do the same for any parent_ , she insists to herself, but she knows that is only true to a certain point.  
  
There are some truths you can neither refuse nor embrace.  Philippa accepts this.  
  
She pages Spock to meet her as well.   If Saru asks, she can tell him that Vulcan logic training makes the Ensign a strong choice for codebreaking.  It isn’t untrue.  
  
“It doesn’t follow any of the patterns observed in previous Klingon transmissions or data we’ve intercepted,” Saru informs them both, delicately placing a PADD down on her desk, as always so cautious, so reserved he seems more formal than Philippa has realized he really is.  
  
“And yet you are certain it originated from a Klingon vessel and it was sent on a frequency only the Klingons utilize regularly.”  
  
“It could be a trick, captain, some attempt by our enemies to lure us into a trap.”  
  
Saru always thinks everything might be a trap.  It’s actually a very useful perspective, which has saved the entire ship more than once.  
  
“Assuming that is true, number one, how would such a ruse work? Would it not make more sense to have the false information appear more in line with real Klingon transmission data?”  
  
“It’s possible they don’t want to risk giving us any additional information we might use to break their message encryption,” Spock speaks up.  
  
“Still, until we decipher and translate this information, we’ll have no idea how it might function as an aid or a trap.  It is not a bad theory, Mr. Saru, but even if it is true we need to figure out what it says.”  
“Very well, captain,” Saru inclines his head, somewhere between acknowledgement and deference, the movement always reminds her of some sort of aristocratic bow.  
  
“Mr. Spock, you will assist in this effort.  I’d also like to ascertain whether we were the only ship to receive such a message or it went out more widely to the rest of the fleet.”  
  
“Perhaps the Glenn-”  
  
“No,” she shakes her head, “I don’t want to alert anyone else to this just yet, in case it is a trap as has been suggested.”  
  
She doesn’t say that Lorca is the last person she wants to share intel with, not when there is any other choice.  
  
“I could ask Lieutenant Stamets to reach out to his counterpart and simply see if he mentions anything that might indicate one way or another.”  
  
“I suppose there isn’t any harm in that,” she concedes, “Remember, we need to proceed cautiously with this, though, both of you.”  
  
“Captain, there is an approaching vessel requesting to dock.”  Her communication officer’s voice sounds through the speaker and Philippa moves to the intercom to answer.  
  
“Georgiou here.  What is the nature of the vessel.”  
  
“It’s Vulcan, Captain. Ambassador Sarek’s personal shuttle.”  
  
Sarek.  Of course  Sarek is showing up unexpectedly when she is unkept, unshowered, and off balance.  Vulcans claim not to care for illogical frivolities, but anyone who has ever seen the way they dress or the craftsmanship of their creations can easily see that aesthetic is more important to them than they like to let on.  Oh well.  Sarek has seen her in far worse states.  
  
“Let the Ambassador board immediately,” she confirms, before turning her attention back to Saru and Spock, “Number one, I want to hear as soon as you have anything.”  
  
“Very well,” Saru replies, heading towards the door.  Spock moves to follow him.  
  
“Ensign, if you would accompany me to the shuttle bay…”  
  
“It’s probably for the best I didn’t, captain.  With all due respect…”  
  
“I will not force you to stay, Spock, but I question the logic behind your avoidance of your father.”  
  
“Noted, captain.”  
  
Philippa doesn’t have time to consider Spock’s retreat from her ready room further, hastily attempting to smooth her hair as she heads towards the turbolift at a brisk pace.  What is Sarek doing here?  What could be so secret or urgent that he would come in person?  
  
Michael, she can’t help thinking, and the thought makes her stomach sink.  For all that their final hours together were fraught, grieving her former first officer and protege the first time was hard enough.  She cannot bring herself to truly consider what it would be like to do a second time if Sarek is coming bearing ill tidings.  
  
Still, would he really have come just to tell her Michael is dead after all?  
  
She convinces herself, by the time she enters the shuttle bay, that perhaps this visit has more to do with Spock and his unwillingness to face his father than bad news to be shared.  The young officer’s unwillingness to comply his captain’s request begs many questions.    
  
“Ambassador,” she smiles that shallow diplomatic smile, uncertain as to why he is arriving unannounced like this  
  
“Captain Georgiou,” Sarek responds, holding out his hand in the customary salute, and for a moment she’s taken back in time to when she might have stepped forward to mirror the gesture.  
  
She recovers quickly.  
  
“To what does Discovery owe the unexpected visit?” she asks directly, a valuable strategy when facing Sarek.  
  
“Tell us speak of that privately,” Sarek replies, confirming her suspicion that this is not about Federation business once again.  
  
“As you wish, Ambassador,” she replies graciously, stressing his title, “Security will escort your companions to their quarters and we can discuss it over a private tea. I happen to have a stash of that particular strain of tiger star jasmine you are partial to in my quarters.”  
  
It is only after she suggests it that Philippa considers that she ought to have named her ready room as a more appropriate setting, but Sarek does not object.  
  
These quarters don’t really feel like her own anyway, she thinks as the door slides open.   After so many years, the ones she occupied on the Shenzhou had really come to feel like home and, though the Discovery has objectively better facilities, she has not really settled in here yet.  
  
“Should I ask your son to join us?” she suggests immediately, as she crosses over to begin preparing the tea.  
  
“I’m sure that Spock has more useful things to do than come play chaperone, Phillipa,” Sarek replies cooly, but she’s almost certain it is a bit of humor on his part, “Besides, I imagine if he wished to see me he would have followed you to the docking bay.”  
  
“Who says that we were together when you arrived, or that it was an option?”  
  
He’s right but she’s not going to reward the presumption.  
  
“Tell me, have you picked up any unusual transmissions originating from a Klingon source recently?”  
  
Right to the point.  She wonders how he knew.  She wonders if- No.  She refuses to borrow trouble.  Sarek wouldn’t be reaching out like this, just to tell her the worst.  
  
“We have received a transmission” she admits, “Your son is working on decrypting it now.  Is there something we should know about it?”  
  
She can’t help holding her breath, waiting to see if Sarek will reveal how he knew about the transmission, hoping it isn’t bad news.  
  
“It’s from Michael,”  Sarek reveals, “I managed to reach her momentarily and she told me she had found a way to send you vital information.”  
  
When Philippa had heard they had picked up something from the Klingons, her mind had gone to Michael immediately.  She had thought perhaps it would contain a threat, some sort of extortion, or even gruesome footage meant to demoralize her.  She had not considered that Michael might have sent it herself, though now that does seem the simplest and clearest answer.  
  
Michael had always been been resourceful.  
  
“Saru was worried it was some sort of trick,” she confides in her relief, “I’ll admit he had me half convinced.”  
  
“Michael thought he might, which is why she pushed so hard to have me let you know otherwise.”  
  
“Did she say what it was?”  
  
“No,” Sarek replies, “Maintaining the link even as much as we did was taxing, so I know only that she thought it important.”  
  
Now that she’s looking more closely, Philippa can see the signs of strain on Sarek, nothing that the casual observer would notice, but she is not that.  She isn’t capable of being, not after everything.  Just how hard has he been pushing himself to try to reach Michael? She wonders what the sort of long distance telepathy he is talking about takes from him.  She suspects it is a great deal, otherwise, wouldn’t they all do it?  
  
“Very well,” she acknowledges, “I’ve put off telling command about your… contact with Michael, but if this information is as vital as it sounds, that will cease to be an option.”  
  
”You may be right.  I intend to stay here on the Discovery while we sort it out, in case of the event that my skills are needed.”  
  
He doesn’t have to say which skills.  Diplomacy has never worked with the Klingons.  
  
“And the situation with Spock...”  
  
It is her turn to push back a little, after all Sarek brought it up himself.  Something is going on between the father and son, something that needs to be resolved for all of their sakes.  Knowing firsthand how strongly stubbornness is a central part of their family culture, Philippa prepares herself for the fact that it certainly won’t be simple or easy to make peace between them.  
  
“My son’s juvenile rebellion will not extend as far as risking the security of this ship or the well being of his foster sister.  I presume you told him she is alive.”  
  
“I did,” she confirms, “I do wonder why it is that you did not inform him yourself?”  
  
She still isn’t sure which party initiated the pointed silence between them, but finds herself determined to change that.  
  
“I judged you to be a better person to convey the news.  You know I have always held you in high regard, Philippa.”  
  
Knowing that Sarek is using what passes for a compliment by a Vulcan to try and appease her, does not keep Philippa from being affected by it completely.  
  
“That is what you always say when you want a favor, Sarek,” she points out anyway.  
  
“It would be illogical to ask one of an individual incapable of delivering said favor, would it not?”  
  
Estraven chooses this moment to emerge from wherever she has been napping, her low call full of vibrato as she strides between them, stretching dramatically.  Sarek’s gaze shifts to the feline display, taking in the sight of her.    
  
“It has been decades since you last saw her,” Philippa smiles, the familiar warmth spreading within her as she looks down at her companion of over thirty years, a gift from the man she is standing across from.  
  
“Ai looks very much the same,” Sarek deflects, though referencing that he possess Estraven’s littermate undermines whatever attempt at distancing himself from the gift he might be making.   At the same time, he kneels to reach his hand out for Estraven to sniff.  
  
“Is he the same size then?” she asks with a false lightness, feeling the power of memory and the unbroken links of its bond between them, “Or is there a level of dimorphism in the breed?”  
  
Philippa had not known, when she held the tiny spotted kitten with ears bigger than the rest of it in her hands for the first time, the depth or extravagance of the gift.  She had been too young.   She had not known enough about Vulcan culture, only about this one Vulcan.  She finds herself grateful for that fact.  If she had known, she might not have been able to accept it, and the thought of having lived all these years without Estraven’s appraising gaze and reassuring warmth is melancholy.    
  
“Without putting them side by side it is difficult to be certain,” Sarek replies,  and his eyes seem to scrutinize with almost the same intensity as the cat’s.  
  
She turns away from the sight of Estraven rubbing her face against Sarek’s hand, going back to finishing preparing the tea, and when she turns around she finds them seated at the table, her cat happily curled in Sarek’s lap as though she can remember that it is Sarek who brought them together.  
  
Philippa bites down the swirl of conflicting emotions that rise within her.  It has been a long time since she and Sarek spent any significant time in the same place.    
  
She is no longer so young, so uncertain and at the same time sure of her convictions.  With the barrier of light years between them, she realizes she had forgotten the nuances of his presence. Of course there were pieces of it in Michael, and in Spock, and in her memory most of all. Still, Philippa breathes deeply as she pours the tea and shrugs off the glamour and nostalgia.  
  
“Perhaps,” she suggests, “You’d better tell me exactly how you intend to utilize those particular skills of yours here on Discovery.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay between chapters. Hopefully it won't happen again, but I can't promise anything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock's stoicism and solitude are both tested.

His father has been on board for three days and Spock calculates that he is rapidly exhausting the number of of dinner invitations he will be allowed to turn down before the captain makes the next one a command. Despite his best meditative efforts, his concentration is suffering, as is clearly evidenced by how long he has been staring at the same sequence of symbols on this PADD.

“Hi. I’m Tilly.” 

Spock looks up from his PADD to find that a young human with a mass of curly red hair has taken up the seat across from him and is extending her hand. 

When he does, he finds himself slightly taken aback, no one has disturbed his isolation since he arrived on Discovery, other than for official purposes. The same was mostly true on the Enterprise. Some people are curious about him, a novelty abroad mostly-human (despite the Federation’s diverse membership) crews; however, generally they merely stare. Yet this Tilly seems determined to ignore his clear preference for solitude.

He gives her a more appraising gaze, noting the cadet’s badge. He keeps both hands firmly on his PADD.

“And is there something you require, Cadet Tilly?”

“I just thought I’d come say hello. You’re always sitting by yourself and that’s not fair. I mean it’s not like it’s your fault that your sister decided to be a mutineer and besides no one deserves to be all alone. Captain Georgiou obviously thought the same since she-”

She has a low probability of discontinuing unless he does something and it occurs to him not for the first time that in this instance his lack of expressiveness is likely doing him no favors. A typical human would flinch or tear up at such a blase mention of what he had very reasonably been seeking to avoid mentioning. Since he will not, this one will doubtless fail to recognize the thoughtlessness of her words.

“Has it not occurred to you that perhaps I prefer to be left alone?”

She pauses for a moment and there’s a brief instant where it appears that maybe she really didn’t think about it, but then she shakes her head.

“Nope. Not buying it. That’s what people say when they want to make it seem less awkward that they don’t have any friends.”

“Is that what this is then, you becoming my friend?”

“It could be. I mean we’re both new on the ship, right? I’m sorry if what I said just now about your sister was rude. I mean if that’s even the right thing to call her- I don’t really get your family structure, I mean she was human right and you're clearly... not? There I go again, putting my foot in my mouth. My mother says I lack any common sense when it comes to filters and maybe she’s right about that. Like right now I want to ask you about your dad being here on board and what it's like growing up with a literal legend, but that’s probably too personal again.”

Unaccountably, the more her sentences run on, the less inclined to protest Spock becomes. There is something about her that is akin to a kitten or puppy, its boundless energy and lack of restraint so clearly free of malice. Spock discovers he cannot find it in himself to be curt with Tilly, at least no more curt than his usual affect is perceived by humans. The honesty of her intentions is very clear, however heavy handed her approach may be.

He finds it refreshing, in contrast to stares and hushed whispers people believe he cannot hear. 

“Perhaps, cadet, things might function a great deal more smoothly if more humans chose to be forthright. I am Spock,” he tells her, reciprocating her original greeting, “although it is clear you already know that.

On another day, perhaps he would not wish to nurture such a connection, but it seems his father’s presence on board has altered his usual disposition.

“I did,” Tilly beams at him, unabashed, “But it’s nice to meet you officially.

She puts out that hand again, and he reluctantly extends his. It is a human custom he has been forced to become somewhat accustomed to during his time in Starfleet.

“What you said earlier about me not being human is not completely accurate,” he offers, “My father is Vulcan and I was raised there. However, my mother, as I am somewhat surprised you did not discover during your initial prying into my family history, is human.”

She opens her mouth again and he finds himself immediately considering that perhaps encouraging her was a mistake.

“So Michael Burnham was like your half sister- ” At a sharp eyebrow raise she cuts herself off and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh shit. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

He recognizes that he has partially invited this conversation topic by bringing back up the subject of his parentage, though he is unsure why he did such a thing. The last thing he wants to do is talk about Michael: who left them all with such a colossal mess to clean up, whose actions have caused so many to regard him with added suspicion and distrust, who is the reason his father is here on board the Discovery testing his resolve.

“Cadet Tilly…”

“I swear I’m not trying to be this invasive. Maybe we should talk about work, that’s safe right?”

“Safe has variable definitions, does it not?”

She squints slightly, clearly trying to ascertain his disposition without many of the cues she is used to. He does not take offense.

“Was that just there humor, Mr. Spock?” she hazards, and again, he finds himself eased by her presence. The good natured bluntness reminds him a little of his mother… a little of Michael, though, of course, neither of them would ever be so frantic and inpercise in their communications. 

Perhaps that is why he has come so close to discussing with her a topic he has studiously avoided even within his own thoughts.

“I don’t suppose you have studied decryption in any depth,” he moves on to the proposed subject of work, rather than face the association. He counts five heartbeats and lets go of the thought, visualizing it drifting away into the ether.

“Not officially but I’m really good at finding connections and patterns. That’s the basis, right? I was the captain of the puzzle solving team at my high school.”

It is strange. She is neither boasting nor bashful. Just presenting a truth, at least as she sees it. He would say it was logical were it not for the high level of effusiveness with which she seems to express everything.

“It is possible that lack of any expectations when it comes to encoding methodology might be an advantage in this case.”

He hands her the PADD with the transmission they received from the Klingon ship right before his father’s arrival. The captain does not strike him as the type to criticize delegation. Tilly shifts the same intense focus to studying it as she had previously targeted on observing him. At this point he begins to surmise that is simply her way of engaging with any subject.

“You know, Captain Georgiou lent me a book on patterns in pre-warp symbols across species, and I feel like some of these clusters look a lot like the pages I have had a chance to look at so far.”

“The captain did?”

He hasn’t told Tilly that Michael is supposedly the source of this code, but Georgiou was her mentor, if the captain is in the habit of giving said treatise to young officers under her command it is highly probable that Michael has read it. 

“Yeah. She said that it was good training for the brain to see how cultures could be so different and yet similar at the same time.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yeah. It’s back in my quarters. Do you really think it might help?”

“There is only one way to find out.”

So they do. Tilly goes and fetches the text and it is quickly apparent that the similarities she noticed are anything but superficial. She seems surprised when he asks Saru if he can borrow her assistance from the Spore Lab for the project, but eager and willing to help. 

It turns out she is also very capable. Some of the humans Spock has known might believe that fate or destiny brought Tilly to his table to solve this mystery, but he is aware that it is curiosity which has led to both. No metaphysical mystery necessary.

Now he has a legitimate reason to turn down the next set of dinner invitations, as it turns out that the text Tilly offers truly does break open the transmission pattern and they spend the next few days running various scenarios until they find an algorithm that works.

Tilly proves to be innovative without being imprecise. Her calculations are unorthodox but sound.

She is the one to make the cognitive leap regarding the content of the message, though she does not know who could possibly have sent it from the Klingon ship. Spock suspects that the captain will tell her, but he will not be the one to break the secret.

“I think this has to do with the cloaking technology from that Sarcophagus ship,” she proposes. 

Further examination reveals that Tilly is most likely correct. 

Not the SOS the captain might be expecting if that is true, but something far more valuable. Naturally, it would also be a perfect ruse to use as a trap, if Mr. Saru is indeed correct in his suspicions.

“We must take this to the captain,” 

Tilly appeared surprised when he did not simply take the text and dismiss her, and appears more so now when he assumes that they will go together to tell the captain about their findings. She does not understand this act of trust he suspects, used to the human need to take credit and not share it. 

She is not aware that he always worked most efficiently with Michael sorting logic puzzles as a child, that by being offered the same book by the same woman she has become linked in that narrative, an instinct that is validated as they work. She does not know that this kind of collaboration is something he finds gratifying.’

“Lieutenant Tivah will undoubtedly be interested in its contents as well,” he suggests, remembering that the Andorian was working on developing this kind of technology for the federation, “And the first officer should be invited to join us.”

Both things are true. His motivation to include them and Tilly certainly does not have to do with any lingering discomfort with the likelihood that his father will be with the captain.

The situation with the captain does not improve matters with his father. While Captain Georgiou is kind and admirable, Spock has not been able to feel at ease regarding her following his first night on board Discovery when he looked at that Vulcan sand cat of hers and could not help but surmise secrets he had been more comfortable not knowing about her history with his father. 

It is an emotional reaction that he cannot seem to restrain. There is very little less enticing than the idea of an intimate discussion between the three of them. 

His caution is validated as his father is indeed in the captain’s ready room with her. When they enter, Spock notes the tea on the table and a few stray fibers of feline fur on his usually immaculate father’s clothing. Did Michael know? Did she know and dissemble to him? To their mother?

His train of thought is cut off by the captain. 

“You’ve done well, both of you,” Georgiou smiles, looking up from the PADD he has surrendered to her, but Spock can see the visible lines of exhaustion in her face.

“Indeed,” Sarek adds, taking the decrypted translation from the captain and looking it over with his usual level of scrutiny, “It appears that Spock’s decision to include you was profitable after all Miss…”

“Tilly, Cadet Sylvia Tilly. Ambassador. Sir.” 

She visibly straightens her posture under Sarek’s notice, nervous energy restrained from movement for the moment.

“I will be sure to put a note of commendation in both of your files,” Georgiou adds, “Let us wait for the others to arrive before going over the import of what you have discovered to avoid undo repetition.”

She is correct, of course, that is the logical and efficient course of actions, but every moment they have to wait seems to stretch to eternity. Spock is no stranger or opponent of silence but in this moment it is not peaceful or clear but charged and fraught with anticipation and tension.

The captain breaks the awkward silence with a comment about the new customization options of the replicators in the mess hall, but Spock struggles to track the conversation let alone participate, as he studiously avoids making eye contact with his father, leaving the captain and Tilly attempt to make small talk for the four of them. 

It takes less than five minutes for Saru and Tivah to join them, but seems to last so much longer. He finds himself breathing a deep sigh of relief as they get back to business, knowing that the sooner they begin the closer they will be to finishing this conference and getting back to purposeful action.

“What we are about to discuss must not leave this room until further notice,” the captain begins and Spock knows she is about to tell the others about his father’s theory that Michael is alive, a theory he is starting to become convinced of, despite his initial incredulity.

And yet, she does not tell them that it is Sarek the notion comes from, that he is the one who originally insisted that Michael is alive. 

“Recently, suspicions have arisen that my former first officer, Michael Burnham is still alive in captive custody, and now we believe that she is the source of the message we received from a Klingon vessel.”

The captain pauses for a moment, giving Saru, Tilly, and Tivah a chance to react. Saru looks shaken, more so than usual, even given his cautious Kelpian temperament. Tivah is visibly anxious, her antenna twitching slightly. Tilly, on the other hand, seems thrilled by the surprise; perhaps she is gratified to be in on a such a closely guarded secret. 

“Ensign Spock and Cadet Tilly have managed to translate this message using knowledge Tilly gleaned from a book I shared with Burnham as well. Our goals right now are twofold: The first is to ascertain if this information truly came from Michael. That task falls on those who knew her best. Saru, you will work with Michael’s family on this.”

He can see Tivah processing the information, the confirmation of what she doubtless already suspected when she noted his pointed ears on that first day he came onboard. He watches her glance between himself and his father, clearly searching for commonalities.

“Captain, are you certain that I am the best person to authenticate whether this message truly came from Burnham, you know that she and I rarely saw eye to eye…”

“That is precisely why I need you on this, Saru. You thought this was a trap from the start and I need you to make sure that you weren’t right. After years of debate with her, you know exactly how she thinks, and you are not so likely to be persuaded by hope as the rest of us.”

Spock notices the barely perceptible twitch of tension on Sarek’s face as she makes that last statement, lumping them both in with her human sentiment. 

“The second is to analyze the message’s content, which appears to be regarding the Klingons’ cloaking technology, and determine how to best make use of it. Cadet Tilly, you will provide Lieutenant Tivah your assistance on this, as it is her area of expertise.”

“Captain, if I may ask, is there a reason for the secrecy?” 

“Secrecy gives us many advantages, lieutenant, but there is a specific cause in this case. Command has reason to believe that there may be Klingon spies amongst us, if they are correct and a spy discovers what we are up to, we lose not only the benefits of surprise but also we could compromise any measure of safety Burnham might have.”

“Understood, captain,” Tivah inclines her head differentially, but Spock suspects that she has the same doubts about Georgiou’s motivation that he does, that she’s up to something she doesn’t want command to know about, that she’s covering somehow for his father, that there are unspoken priorities at play here. 

Would command even be pleased to discover that Michael is alive, given how her actions started this war? Should he be?

“Wow,” Tilly has rushed to catch up with his longer strides as they all file out of the captain’s ready room and into the corridor, “So that was some weird ass tension in there, huh? What’s up with you and your dad. I mean I know Vulcans aren’t like super demonstrative but you were acting like if you looked at each other the whole ship might implode.”

“Cadet Tilly, Ambassador Sarek and I-”

“Are you guys fighting? Is it about Michael?”

“It is not about Michael,” he replies before he thinks to deny that there is an issue between them.

“Are you going to tell me what it is about or do I have to guess?”

It is clearly too late to convincingly backtrack and claim that there is no problem between them, and yet, even if he wanted to tell Tilly, what would he say? 

Would he talk about the growing up as an outsider on his home planet, how the other vulcan children seemed less accepting of his differences than of Michael’s even? How even given that, she was rejected by the Vulcan Science Expedition, despite her picture perfect performance at the academy?

Would he speak of the harsh words exchanged with his father when he chose to join Starfleet in light of that denial, how Sarek saw his unwillingness to subject himself to that same rejection as defiance and a failure of character? 

Would he tell her that Sarek and he hadn’t discussed what happened to Michael, that he had to hear about Sarek’s contact with her secondhand from the captain? 

Would he explain the significance of the cat, most rare and precious on Vulcan, a traditional betrothal gift so elusive it was only practiced now by a small sliver of the population lucky enough to be able to do so? A once in a lifetime token of devotion-

“Cadet Tilly, if I might have a moment to speak to my son alone…” 

His father’s voice startles him out from the mental rabbit hole of reminiscence and recrimination, as though summoned there by it, and Spock turns to find he’s only a few paces behind them in the corridor, evidently having followed more closely than Spock would have anticipated.

“Of course, ambassador,” she replies politely but as she walks away behind Sarek she mouths animatedly that the conversation is not over.

“Is there something you require, father?” Spock says as briskly and evenly as he has ever enunciated any sentence.

“There is. Will you come with me to discuss it privately?”

“Why the secrecy? Surely the honorable Vulcan ambassador has nothing to hide.”

The comment is unworthy of him.

It is somewhat of an irony, the way that his father’s presence seems to bring out his human side, when all Sarek has ever sought to do is to mold his half breed son into a true Vulcan. Most of the time, being surrounded by humans in Starfleet, Spock has a sense of being exactly that, of otherness, of being the cold blooded alien they see in him. Logical, detached, in control. Yet, all his father has to do is show up, and Spock finds his hard earned composure slipping. His humanity seems to well up in opposition to his father’s example.

Though, now, he has to question how much truth there is to Sarek’s appearance. He stares at those cat hairs and ponders how much of Sarek’s legend is a fabrication.

“Spock.” His father says his name in such a way to be a reproach and a request at the same time.

“We have work to do, father. Surely it is most logical for us to complete that task before taking time to discuss other topics.”

“It’s about Michael, Spock. I require your assistance to attempt contact with her.”

“I do not comprehend-”

“I believe that if we were to meld out minds as one it would strengthen my ability to reach out to her telepathically, Spock.”

His father wants to link their consciousnesses. It takes him by surprise. Sarek has always discouraged Spock from engaging in any sort of mind meld, saying that the emotional overload would try his already limited capacity for control. And to have his father inside of his psyche, to share innermost thoughts. What kind of secrets might they learn from one another? What questions might he find answered but regret knowing the truth of? How much more of a disappointment might he become in his father’s eyes.

In addition everyone knows, “Vulcan telepathic connectivity requires physical contact, father. It is illogical to think that you could bypass that prerequisite.”

“I have already done so, Spock. I can show you how. Come with me and I will explain everything, I promise it.”

His father does not idly promise. Despite his misgivings, Spock is convinced of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it was a long time between updates, but I do have plans to finish this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets a cellmate.

_We are coming for you._ The words echo in her mind and she wonders if she is going mad indeed. Sarek and Spock reaching out to her mind together, how could such a thing be? The father and son have barely spoken since Spock defied Sarek’s wishes and enlisted in Starfleet. Even if they were talking, how could they hope to enact a rescue in the middle of this war. She is on doubtless the most guarded ship in the Klingons’ possession. Even if they figured out how to break the cloak using the schematics she sent, getting in range would be a long journey through what was essentially a kill shoot. 

Sarek wouldn’t have lied to make her feel better though. It was not in his nature. He must have a plan. 

_Not all of his plans work, though. His plans for me failed and that’s how I ended up on board the Shenzhou in the first place._

Her thoughts are interrupted as the door to her cell slams open. She turns to look, just in time to see an unfamiliar guard shove a battered human into the room and then quickly close it. The man stumbles, clearly disoriented and weakened, and Michael moves to help steady him. 

He is in bad shape, clearly fresh off interrogation and still reeling from the combination of physical torture and the drugs the Klingons must have administered to make him talk more. She does not think that the Klingons often keep prisoners past the initial rounds of interrogation. Yet this man clearly has been enduring their attentions over a long period of time. She can see the scars from earlier sessions mixed with the partially healed and fresh injuries. He must have been captured close to as long ago as she was. 

What secrets are they still trying to get out of him? Why bring them together now? In all these months she’s never had a cellmate and she has to wonder about the timing, so soon after she managed to get a message out and immediately following the psychic link with Sarek and Spock. 

“Lieutenant Ash Tyler,” he introduces himself, clearly doing his best to push through the fog of his current state, “USS Yaeger.”

“Commander Michael Burnham of the of the USS Shenzhou,” she replies, walking him over to the wall so that he can use its support to sit against.

“Shenzhou…” Something seems to pierce through his disorientation. “Aren’t you the ones who got us into this mess?”

“I’m afraid so,” she admits, trying not to let his too true comment bother her, “It seems like we’ve both been here for a while.”

“Well not here here,” he replies, blinking and then sitting up a little straighter as he laces his fingers together a bit nervously, “This Klingon woman had me on her ship, but I guess Kol exerted some pressure to summon her here.”

He shudders as he explains this but his voice remains surprisingly even, and Michael wonders how he’s remained so seemingly sane under these months of torture. She knows that most people stop fighting the drugs, stop trying to reconnect with reality after a certain point, but this Tyler seems determined to shake the effects off and be fully present rather than slip into a fantasy state. 

She’s not entirely sure she’s sane and she’s barely been touched by the interrogators really. Kol had other plans for her, after all. It’s not a question that has any benefit though, so she focuses on the current situation. What did Kol hope to gain by putting them together like this? Why take custody of this Tyler now?

“Putting us together like this, it’s a trick, right? They’re hoping to get us talking and find something out.”

She seats herself next to him, instead of awkwardly standing over him or squatting down to face him.

“Maybe,” Tyler hesitates, “I’ve had other cellmates before, but none of them long term.”

“I’d ask you what makes you so special, but that’s probably what they are listening in for.”

She knows why she is still alive, and only part of it is that cloaking technology. As the murderer or T’Kuvma, she is a special case. Death would be letting her off too easy. No. The Klingons will not let her have the swift release of a bat’leth across her throat. 

“Alright, then,” He nods slowly, continuing to twist his entwined fingers in various directions, and shoots her a tired looking half smile. “I won’t ask you why they have kept you either.”

In spite of being pretty sure the Klingons are using Tyler’s presence to work against her somehow, Michael feels a warmth from it. He may be bloodied and dazed, but being around another human, around anyone other than Klingons, it makes her feel more like herself. Of course that could also be the point: give comfort only to take it away, create a bond that they can exploit.

“I’d ask how the war was going, but I’m guessing you aren’t getting any more information about that than I am.”

She’s at a loss for what to talk about, despite the desire to communicate about something, just to interact in some way. Having only herself to talk to all this time has definitely contributed to the feeling that she has been losing her mind. 

“I don’t suppose we could convince the guards to bring us a deck of cards,” Tyler deadpans, shrugging and raising his eyebrows a bit, and it takes Michael a moment to recognize that he is attempting humor. It’s been such a long time with only Klingons around, a race that appears to be truly humorless. People think that’s true of Vulcans, but they are wrong. Vulcan humor is subtle, but it exists. 

“Not likely,” she sighs, shaking her head regretfully. 

Despite herself she wants to tell him to hold on, that help is coming. She’s been telling herself not to get her hopes up and she’s only just met him, so it doesn’t make sense. Still, she wants to be able to give this man something to cling to through the pain he must be in. That would be foolish though, to tip her hand and warn their captors to be on increased alert.

She tries to focus on her self appointed mission instead, to understand the Klingons. What would make them fixate on this man with such patience? What might they hope to gain by bringing them together? She’s already thought of some likely answers to the latter question so she focuses on the other one.

“The Shenzhou, huh? Captain Georgiou is a living legend. What’s she really like?”

He couldn’t know. Michael takes a deep breath, just the way that she was taught back on Vulcan for meditation, and controls the emotional response her captain’s name generates.

“She is…” Michael pauses, contemplating what to tell him. _Brilliant. Kind. Resourceful._ What words could possibly explain the complexity of Captain Philippa Georgiou? 

_She sees possibility where everyone else sees a dead end._

_She is incredibly funny, even if I never admitted that to her._

_She is the most honorable, most noble, person I know._

_She is my family._

_She is the person I never wanted to disappoint or betray and yet I did both._

“Whatever they say about, Captain Georgiou, however they praise her… it is deserved.”

She’s tried not to dwell on thoughts of Georgiou, but for a moment she indulges. She’s managed to crack enough of the Klingons’ code to know that her captain is at the helm of a new ship, that she made it out of that battle alive. Michael can’t help wondering if she can ever be forgiven, even if she ever makes it out of here.

She messed this up. If she’d only done as her captain told her to, only followed the plan instead of her own curiosity, maybe the Federation wouldn’t be fighting this war. She’s trying to make amends, hopes that the information about the cloaking frequencies helps, hopes that even though she will probably never make it out of here alive Philippa knows she did her best, that she was sorry.

“I keep going over and over that battle,” Tyler tells her. “I keep running these different scenarios about how I could have done or said something differently and maybe saved the ship, saved my captain.”

He pauses and looks at her, and Michael feels exposed by that look of understanding, as if he’d read her mind. 

“If you followed Starfleet protocols, there is nothing else you could have done.”

_Unlike me._ She doesn’t add, thinking about how she had defied Starfleet directives and the will of her captain, panicking and acting out like a frightened child instead of a Starfleet officer. She could have done better, much better.

“It is never really about that, though, is it?” he replies, shoulders slumping in exhaustion and hands falling to the floor. “It’s about what we wish were true, more than what is. It’s about what we can’t stand not what can actually be changed.”

“That,” she counters, “is illogical.”

“Logic is for Vulcans,” he muses, eyes heavy, speech slower now. His earlier fidgeting has ended, exhaustion surpassing whatever had been keeping him going. “We are only human.”

His last few words fade to a stumbling slur. Then, he succumbs to the drugs and fatigue, adrenaline and force of will abandoning him at last. He collapses and his body weight shifts, leaning against her shoulder.

She makes no move to extricate herself, as unaccustomed to the proximity of another person as she is. It is a relief, she lets herself admit, to not be alone in here with her own thoughts. It will not last. In the end she is certain the Klingons will find a way to make her wish she’d never met Ash Tyler, but for now she finds a little bit of comfort in his presence here. Even drifting out of consciousness, it is companionship.

She resists the urge to try to reach out to Sarek’s mind again. She’s not strong enough to initiate that link, no matter how many times she tries. All she can do is bide her time, try to discover something useful, and hope that this rescue he’s planning doesn’t simply lead to his own capture… and that of Spock.

_My brother,_ she can’t help thinking, remembering him as smaller than her, though that has not been the case in a number of years. She knows he followed her into Starfleet, though they’re never served together, she is the reason he chose that path and she wonders if he ever regrets that choice. He would have been safer on Vulcan, she thinks.

Though, is anywhere safe now?

He is alive, right now. They are both alive. She didn’t imagine that, she feels more confident believing than she did before. Sarek has reached out at a distance before, when she was trapped in the brig. Once again she finds herself thinking of him the way she had when she was a child, like he can do anything. 

_Foolish,_ she tells herself.

_One of the tragedies of growing up,_ Georgiou had once told her, _is realizing that the adults who seemed so infalible when we were children are no different from ourselves._

Michael finds she wishes now that she had asked her more questions when she had the chance. At the time she had told herself that it was irrelevant, impertinent, but now she longs for the answers, from the captain who had been so much more than that, from the father who was not her father and yet had become so, but perhaps most of all from herself.

_I am still here,_ she reminds herself, sparing a glance for towards the unconscious form of Ash Tyler, which somehow makes her feel more present than she has been in a long while.

_Perhaps,_ she tells herself, _I have been looking at realizing Sarek is not some godlike figure raised above the rest of us the wrong way around this whole time. If he is not something more than I am, then perhaps it is not that he is less than I believed him to be but that I can be something greater than I believed._

Instead of trying to reach out this time, she focuses her attention within. She considers what Sarek had said to her when she’d asked him about how he was able to transverse the distance between them, that he had left a piece of his katra within her. Then the answer isn’t out there across distant stars. She doesn’t need to reach out; what she’s looking is already with her.


End file.
